


The Daily Grind & When the Day is Done

by ChampagneSly



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 04:05:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChampagneSly/pseuds/ChampagneSly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A companion piece to some lovely fanart. Mornings with Spain and Romano, followed by evenings with Spain and Romano.</p><p>Romantic smut. Also, an appreciation of Spanish bottoms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There aren’t many things Romano finds particularly appealing this early in the goddamned morning, but even he knows that the world can’t be all bad when he stands beneath the shower spray and lazily watches as Spain saunters into the bathroom and starts stripping off his clothes. Romano snorts, licks his lips and ignores Spain’s flirty smile in favor of trying to make out the shape of his calves and the flare of his hips through the fogged shower glass. He’s played this fucking scene enough times in the past to know that the shameless bastard thinks he’s gonna come inside without saying a damned word to steal all the hot water and take up all Romano’s space with his slick skin and greedy lips.

Romano knows how this is supposed to go, knows how Spain thinks this morning is going to unfold. Romano will keep his eyes closed and pretend not to want Spain’s hand to curl around the shower door, pretend not to want the splay of Spain’s hands around his waist and or the murmur of good morning in his ear. He’ll pretend until Spain slides against him, wet and hard and eager, begging enough for the both of them so he doesn’t have to pretend any more.

That’s how it could go, Romano knows. It could go that way and it would be good and they’d both go to work smug and satisfied. And then later, when the day was over and Romano was full of wine and pasta, he could scowl at Spain’s knowing smile and tell him he’s a bastard with no fucking self-control, and that it was Spain’s fault Romano was distracted all day by the memory of Spain on his knees, sucking him off while water slicked his lips.

But this time Romano’s actually awake enough to do more than slump against the tiles in sullen protest of morning and he thinks that maybe he wants Spain to be the one to suffer all day with fire in his veins and daydreams that leave him half-hard under his desk. He wants Spain to be the one forced to down two fucking cups of coffee just to be able to resist the need to drag Romano back to bed to linger for hours, touching and tasting and taking up all of Romano’s damned time and attention.

He wants to fuck up Spain’s day, wants to fuck up what little concentration the idiot’s got, and he damn well wants Spain to sit down in his chair and remember the press of ten Italian fingers into his too perfect ass.

This morning Romano doesn’t fucking feel like pretending, doesn’t feel like waiting on Spain to open the shower door and give him a sweet smile, doesn’t feel like wasting time on not giving in. Spain’s already down to nothing more than his shirt and reaching for the door, but Romano can move fast when there’s something worth the effort, so he leaves the water running and steps out dripping wet to bunch Spain’s ugly fucking tank-top between his fingers.

“Don’t say a goddamned word,” Romano mutters when Spain’s eyes go wide and his lips open to doubtless say something really stupid.

“Not even good morning?” Spain asks hotly, hands already cupping the flush of his cheek and the clench of his jaw while Romano shuffles them back, back, back until he hears the slap of Spain’s thighs against the marble vanity.

“Not even that, asshole. You’re about to be too busy to run your goddamned mouth.” Romano rolls his eyes and nips the thumb Spain drags across his lower lip. He spreads bossy hands over the flare of Spain’s waist and urges him to push up on to the counter, smirking when Spain shivers a little from the cold stone against his skin. 

“But I want to run my mouth over you,” Spain teases, stroking his damp hair from his forehead and tasting the drops of water that run down his cheeks.

“Who doesn’t?” Romano taunts, just to watch Spain’s gaze go dark and possessive in the flicker of a second before Romano licks his lips and they’re kissing like its gonna go out of fucking style.

He’s got Spain’s lip between his teeth and his breath on his tongue and Spain’s already hard against his stomach, trying to pull Romano closer and closer.  And because he’s got Spain where he wants him, needy and at his fucking infinite mercy, Romano magnanimously grants Spain’s wordless request and kisses him until their mouths are both stained wet and red and he can feel Spain’s chest heaving against his.

“But I want you the most. Anyone else who wants you will just have to be disappointed.” Spain murmurs when Romano permits him to breathe and Romano takes stock of the cut of his jaw and the taste of his skin. Spain sighs, drops his lips to the curve of Romano’s ear and whispers, “Because I also love you the most.”

Romano trembles a little beneath the affection that bleeds from the soft stroking of Spain’s fingers in his hair. He kisses the corner of Spain’s mouth, muttering, “What the fuck did I say about words, bastard?”

Spain only smiles and brings their mouths back together, apparently willing to listen for once and forgoing sweet talk in favor of twining his tongue with Romano’s and rubbing his cock against Romano’s stomach. Thankful for the reprieve, Romano splays his hands over each sweet slope of Spain’s ass, pressing in each finger tip to feel the flex of muscle each time Romano moans into Spain’s mouth. He kneads Spain’s between his hands until he’s hot and hard between the spread Spain’s legs and crowded against the bow of his chest. He knows he’s getting Spain all wet, but he doesn’t really care because Spain keeps making these low, rough noises that go straight to his cock and Spain’s pushing into his hands like he wants Romano to take everything he’s got.

They kiss while Romano keeps greedily pressing his fingers into the temptation that is Spain’s ass, and somehow the fervor of the morning seems to slow and thicken into the deep sweetness that Romano knows is going to linger all day. Spain’s touch is gentle as he cups his face and Romano wonders when Spain’s going to catch on that he doesn’t have to hold him in place any longer because Romano doesn’t have anywhere better to be than right here in their messy bathroom, dripping water on the floor with Spain in the palm of his hands.  Spain’s sighing and murmuring stupid things that make his heart race just a little faster and Romano’s forced to kiss him harder to get him to shut-up, because Romano’s thirty seconds from returning every ridiculous sentiment and its too fucking early to be sappy.

Spain hums into the embrace and bites his bottom lip, licking the sting away as Romano opens his eyes just enough to watch the slow slide of Spain’s hand between the press of their bodies, fingers drifting lazily over his nipples and dipping into his navel before brushing over the tip of his cock and down the curve of his shaft. Romano thinks it is a damned shame that he has to abandoned one ass cheek to curl his fingers around Spain’s cock, so Spain can join in the party, but when Spain groans and jerks into the circle of his fist like he’s been waiting for this all morning, Romano decides to it let go and stroke Spain a little faster and little harder.

He lets Spain feel the wickedness of his smirk as he tightens his grip around Spain’s cock, pushes into Spain’s strokes and slaps his palm against the hot, firm skin of Spain’s ass. To his smug delight, Spain’s eyes fly open, his cock jerks in Romano’s hand, and Romano’s name echoes off the bathroom walls. Romano laughs, low and rough and swallows Spain’s surprised and eager moans with messy kisses as he brings his hand down two more times, getting off on the sound of skin slapping against skin and the slow spread of warmth beneath his palm. Spain’s arching into him, practically begging for more, but Romano’s too far gone and there’s not much time left because life is a bastard that doesn’t make enough room for more than a quick fuck before the daily grind.

“Later,” Romano murmurs breathlessly, eyes closed and mouth pressed to Spain’s parted and panting lips. He thinks it might be a promise, that later has always been the promise between them. Romano knows that later used to mean separation and denial, but now it only means days and hours for desire to ferment before they can get drunk on each other all over again.

“Later.” Spain nods and murmurs his assent, stroking Romano hurriedly, their hands rushed and graceless and greedy.

Romano thinks of whispering every damned thing he’s going to do to Spain so Spain can be just as wound up and distracted, but when Spain comes all over his stomach with a gasp, Romano feels pretty fucking certain that he’s not going to be alone in his impatience to return home and get back to what’s really important in life. Spain’s come is sticky and hot on his skin and he’s going to need another goddamned shower, but the taste of Spain’s breathless kiss is sweet enough to make it worth his while.

Romano secretly hopes that there are five little marks on Spain’s perfect ass from the clench of his fingers when Spain sucks on his tongue, twists his wrist and draws out every last bit of pleasure from Romano’s body. As he sighs into the curve of Spain’s throat, he hopes that Spain carries the stain of his touch, a hidden memento of another morning tangled together.

He hopes Spain thinks of him all day.


	2. Chapter 2

When the day is done and all the bullshit’s been shelved for the next round of nine-to-five, Romano makes his way home. It is evening now, and he likes evening a hell of a lot more than he likes the morning, even those mornings made of minted kisses and  hands full of greed. In the evening, he doesn’t have to rush, knows damned well that Spain’s not rushing either, that they both take all the time in their world to meander home to one another. In his lack of haste, in the warm laziness of a city unfolding itself from the workday crouch, Romano puts a little swagger into his steps and remembers the way Spain moaned, so fucking needy and shameless, when Romano made his skin sting with warmth.  He wanders down alleyways and past store fronts that have been ten different things in only one of his lifetimes, admires the cut of his suit in the dirty glass and thinks that he’d like to hear that sound from Spain again. He thinks he’d like Spain to pull those sounds from his throat, lips and tongue bored after a day of spouting the same useless shit that makes the world go round and round.  

Romano smirks at his reflection and decides that if Spain makes something good for dinner, he might even consider asking for it. 

He walks a little faster and chalks it up to be really goddamned hungry. 

~~

Two hours later, Romano sops up the last of a decent red sauce with a piece of the crusty bread he bought from bakery with the cute shop girl. Spain’s toying with a tumbler now sadly empty of the cheap red wine they drink on weeknights and speaking softly about his day, the slope of his shoulders gentle and lax like the curve of his smile. Romano listens and nods, pops the last of dinner into his mouth and doesn’t do more than scowl when Spain laces their hands together on the stained tablecloth like they’re some sort of goddamned newlyweds.  He tolerates Spain’s ridiculousness because its not so bad some evenings to be weighed down by food, booze, and affection—-though he wonders again like he wondered that morning if Spain’s ever gonna wise up and figure out that Romano’s pinned in place, that’s he’s got no plans to go anywhere else but home. 

For a fleeting second, Romano thinks that might be the kind of thing Spain wants to hear but those words get tangled somewhere between lungs and tongue, and instead he just brushes his thumb over Spain’s knuckles, frowns as gently as he knows how, and grumbles, “Time for bed, bastard.” 

Spain’s clueless eyebrows creep up his incredulous forehead, but there’s no protest in his voice when he tugs at Romano’s hand to kiss his wrist and murmur, “Isn’t it a little early for sleeping? Are you tired, Romano?”

Romano rolls his eyes and maybe even smiles a little, jerking his head towards the bedroom as he explains his intentions for an idiot’s benefit, “I didn’t say time to sleep, asshole. I said time for bed.” Spain’s gaze is too fond to bear, so Romano stands from the table with their hands still tangled and looks only toward the promise of messy sheets. “Besides, you fucking owe me.” 

“Oh? What did I do this time, sweetheart?” Spain laughs and crowds against the surly bow of his back, hand already creeping up his shirt as they shuffle towards the bedroom and leave the dishes unwashed for the third day in a row. 

Romano gives the dishes a mental “fuck you” and slumps into Spain’s warm and easy embrace, happy enough to have the kitchen be the Netherlands’ nightmare if it means he gets to feel the slow stir of Spain’s cock (always quicker on the uptake than the man) against him. He moves within Spain’s  absent-minded embrace and doesn’t turn on the bedroom lights to stick with shadows when he admits, “I wasted too much goddamned time this morning. Even when it was over, it wasn’t fucking over.” 

“I thought about it, too,” Spain murmurs happily, pulling Romano’s shirt over his head. Romano is glad his face is hidden so Spain cannot see how it pleases him that Spain, oblivious, bastard Spain, doesn’t always make him explain. Spain kisses him as soon as he is free from a cotton prison, breathing over Romano’s slicked lips, “I thought about you so much I forgot to go to my 3pm meeting.” 

“You always forget to go to your meetings, bastard. Its why the Potato Bastard got you that fucking ugly day planner for Christmas,” Romano grunts with reluctant fondness, all too aware that the stupid thing is collecting dust at the bottom of their closet. He shivers when Spain’s fingers dip inside his pants, stirring the lust that’s been driving him to distraction since 8:37am. 

“Mmm,” Spain agrees, shameless and unrepentant as ever. “But I don’t always forget to go because I’ve got my eyes closed and I’m thinking about what I would to do you if you were there with me in my office.” 

Romano sighs and tilts his head back to allow Spain’s tongue to curl around the lobe of his ear and trace the edge of his jaw. “You wouldn’t do anything to me in your goddamned office, because I’ve some fucking decency,” Romano protests weakly and tries to forget how close he’d come to picking up his phone and telling Spain all sorts of indecencies. 

“Of course,” Spain soothes with a wicked smile, pushing him down on the bed and stripping off Romano’s socks and kissing the bones of his ankle, “But now we’re at home, so maybe we don’t need to be so decent.” 

Romano groans and digs his toes into Spain’s chest, “You’re never fucking decent, bastard.”

“That’s your fault,” Spain chastises, fingers trailing over Romano’s legs to tease the fabric of his underwear, brushing over his balls and up the curve of his cock. Romano glares and pushes into the press of Spain’s palm over his lap, but Spain only parts his lips over each bent knee and murmurs, “So irresistible, even when I try to be good, I can’t help myself.”

“Stop blaming me for your bullshit,” Romano taunts hotly, pushing his hips towards the lowering of Spain’s head, his fingers already reaching for tangled hair, wanting to feel it slide over his skin while Spain breathes hot and insistent over the his stomach. Spain’s peering up from his exploration of Romano’s navel, giving him that hot, considering look that makes his cock feel thick and hard between his legs, and Romano knows that its finally  _later._

Romano sighs, wants, and gives in the only way he knows how—with threats laced in love,  _”_ And start taking responsibility for being such a goddamned distraction. Always stealing all my fucking attention, bastard.” 

Spain makes a low, rough noise against his abdomen and then Romano is suddenly naked, underwear yanked down his legs before he can think to complain further about what an asshole Spain is for always being on his mind. The accusation is on the tip of his tongue, but then the tip of his cock is between Spain’s lips and Spain’s making all these little hungry noises that are so fucking obscene Romano can’t do anything else but knot Spain’s hair around his fingers and hope he lasts for more than five minutes.

Romano knows the touch of Spain’s mouth, knows the slick drag of his tongue down his shaft and knows the press of a thumb behind his balls. He knows it as well as he knows cheap red wine for Monday through Thursday, and lingering kisses under shower spray, but he still wants it like it is new. He craves the scrape of Spain’s teeth over the tremble of his thigh and the rush of each moan that grates in his throat when Spain mouths and strokes his cock with two wet fingers pushed inside his body. He wants to be open to this, wants to spread and bend and arch into this familiar embrace, even though this is another thing on a long list of things he’s not going to say aloud because Spain should just fucking _know_ already. 

“You distract me so,” Spain murmurs as he slides up Romano’s chest and licks the sweat beaded on his chest. “I could feel the touch of you all day, every time I moved, every time I sat, I thought of your hands, of your skin, of the way you held me this morning.” Spain smiles, kisses Romano as he pushes the first inches of his cock inside, gently folding him in half until they’re crowded and inseparable and Romano has no other choice but to listen. “So, sweetheart, it seems we’re both to blame.” 

Romano closes his eyes so not to have to witness the truth in Spain’s flushed and open expression, choosing instead to suck Spain’s tongue between lips, twist his hips and take Spain in so deeply. He swallows Spain’s surprised groan with the burning tightness in his back, kissing Spain while Spain makes soothing sounds and feathers his fingers up and down Romano’s cock, remaining entirely still inside him. Romano strokes Spain’s hair and shares his breath as they kiss, and lust fills him thick, hot, and insistent like fingers, tongue and cock. 

Romano arches his back and runs his hands down the tense line of Spain’s back, stretching and bending as far as his uncooperative body will allow so he can put his hands back where they belong, pushing his fingers into as much of Spain’s ass as he can touch when he’s doubled over and getting fucked into the mattress. He imagines that there are ten perfect little marks of his affection on all that skin and it makes his cock jerk within the circle of Spain’s fist. Romano smiles into the warm curve of Spain’s neck and brings his palm down with all that he has left to give. The echo of Spain’s grunt and the slap of skin to skin is still so fucking good Romano has to do it again, though its goddamned difficult when Spain’s thrusting harder, snapping his hips and tightening his grip on Romano’s cock. 

Romano goes for broke because Spain’s sure as hell not complaining and he can feel the pressure building while sweat slides down his back and his thighs scream. He brings both palms down over the clench and flex of that ass, digging his fingers in and pulling Spain further and further inside. Spain gives him a wild look and bites his bottom lip, shifting away so Romano is deprived of the prize he’s damned well owed for putting up with Spain’s shit all the time. Romano means to scowl, but Spain’s got his ankles over his shoulders and he’s licking the arch of Romano’s foot and giving these shallow thrusts that have his lips parting around moans instead of curses. 

It’s damned unfair that Spain’s so far away now and Romano can’t do more than rake his nails down Spain’s stomach, but he knows that Spain can’t resist kissing him while he comes, so all he has to do is bide his fucking time and Spain will give him everything he wants. Romano’s not above being a little sneaky, particularly when his legs are shaking and Spain’s lips are curling into the gorgeous smug grin that tastes too much like conquest. So he abandons leaving red trails on Spain’s tanned skin in favor of brushing his fingers over the wet tip of his cock, knowing Spain is watching because Spain’s got a bad habit of paying attention when it counts. Romano makes a noise like a Sicilian whore and sucks the sticky salt from his fingers, arching back and murmuring Spain’s name. 

He’s really fucking proud of this little piece of thievery when Spain groans and presses desperate kisses to his calves before they are allowed to drop to the mattress and Spain’s tongue is between his lips, searching out the taste of Romano. Generous in victory, Romano kisses Spain and tightens around the cock slipping in and out of his ass. He can feel Spain’s eyelashes against his cheek as Spain’s hand slips between the rocking tangle of their bodies and wraps around his fingers, as they stroke his cock. Romano knows what Spain wants, knows that the sentimental bastard has decided that tonight they need to do this together, that he wants to feel Romano come before he gives in and does the same. 

And because Romano thinks it’s fucking ridiculous that he knows this from only the familiarity of Spain’s touch, just as he knows that look Spain gets too early in the morning, and the comfort of holding hands over the dinner table, he goes along with this inevitability. He parts his lips to Spain’s messy, breathless kiss, and tries not to say anything stupid when he doesn’t really have the space to think about anything than the heat of Spain’s cock inside his body and the slip of his cock between their joined hands. Romano slides his fingers down the bowing of Spain’s back to rest on the slope of his ass, wanting to feel the clench of muscle beneath his fingertips as he comes over his stomach and Spain’s chest. 

He feels more than hears his name when Spain goes taut and hard, coming inside of him before Romano has finished arching off the mattress and staining their skin sticky and warm. Their kiss has dissolved into nothing more than stealing breaths from lips, but Romano still thinks Spain fucking owes him, so he helps himself to Spain’s air and clings to Spain for support while they shake and shiver. He doesn’t let go until Spain’s brushing the hair from his forehead and kissing his cheeks, murmuring things Romano’s only inclined to listen to when he’s loose and undone, a burn in his back and wetness on his thighs. 

“Always so fucking indecent,” Romano whispers as Spain drags his fingers up Romano’s chest, making an even bigger mess. 

“So beautiful,” Spain denies, licking the tip of one finger and then collapsing against him, dirty mouth pressed to the corner of his jaw. “Every day, all day.”

Romano says nothing, letting his eyes fall shut as he listens to the racing of his heart and the little catch in Spain’s breathing. He wraps his arms around a broad back and lingers. The blanket of Spain’s body is even stickier and warmer, heavy and familiar as Romano is once more needlessly pinned in place. 

Romano kisses the tangle of Spain’s hair that brushes against his cheeks and knows he has come home.


End file.
